


Countdown to Christmas.

by bombhumpa



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Music, Christmas Tree, Drabbles, Everything is Christmas, F/M, First Kiss, Irene's not dead, It actually is Christmas, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sebrene - Freeform, Sherlolly - Freeform, Whiskey - Freeform, brotherly compassion, it's snowing, kiss, mormor, mystrade, shercroft - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-02 05:19:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2801006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bombhumpa/pseuds/bombhumpa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So I have decided to write a short drabble each day until Christmas to get into the Christmas spirit and try to get rid of my writer's block.<br/>Each drabble is an independent story, so read whatever you feel for (or something like that).<br/>Enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Six days before - Johnlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six days 'till Christmas, and John finds a mistletoe very suspicious.

“Sherlock?” John’s voice was coming from the living room. “Why is there a mistletoe on the seat of my chair?” John walked over and took the plant up, suspiciously watching it. “It’s not poisoned or something, is it?” He furrowed his brows as he spoke, who knew what his friend could’ve done with it.

 Sherlock glanced up from his microscope, catching John’s suspicious gaze. “Hmm, no”, he said quickly before continuing his experiment with the tail of a rat he’d got yesterday.

 John sighed. “Sherlock, why do we even have a mistletoe?” He walked over to the kitchen and grabbed a chair, standing on it as he put it up in the doorway. “Molly would approve though.” John stepped down and pushed the chair in under the table, walking back to his chair, picking up the day’s newspaper.

 “Molly isn’t the one I intend to kiss this Christmas”, Sherlock silently mumbled, not loud enough for John to hear it. The detective sighed, sometimes John was so stupid. “I might’ve ruined your Christmas jumper when I was experimenting the other day”, he continued, as if it wasn’t something big. “It’s… smaller now. Might fit a child better than you.”

 John sighed again and put the newspaper down. “It was my favourite”, he whined, getting up from his chair. Walking over to the kitchen counter he put the newspaper away and started the kettle, taking down two teacups from the rack. “Tea? Yes, you haven’t had anything to drink since this morning.” John was talking to himself again. _Wonderful_.

 A few minutes later John put a cup of tea on the table, next to the microscope. “Here you go Sherlock. Drink before it gets cold.” His own mug was at the counter, waiting. “Don’t burn yourself”, John added thoughtfully, his gaze on Sherlock’s little experiment.

 There was a few seconds of silence before Sherlock pulled away from the microscope and firmly placed his hands on John’s shoulders, as if he was moving him out of the way.

 All of sudden John felt Sherlock’s lips against his. “What are you d-? he tried to ask, but the detective just shushed and kissed him again. John’s lips were soft and tasted of biscuits. “Mistletoe”, he mumbled, slightly pointing upwards at the said mistletoe that was hanging in the doorframe. “Merry Christmas, John.”


	2. Five  days before - Mormor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five days 'till Christmas, and our favourite couple is getting ready.

_Five days before._

“But why? I don’t even like Christmas!” James Moriarty was laying on the sofa, his head on the armrest, eyes fastened on the _ridiculous_ Christmas tree Sebastian had dragged inside. “That tree is not good for my reputation!” Jim quickly scanned the tree, it was obviously bought at the gas station.

 Sebastian Moran just rolled his eyes at his boss as he put the tree in place and took a step backwards. “But I like Christmas, and without a tree there will be no Christmas spirit!”

 Jim laughed sarcastically. “Are we going to put up stockings at the fireplace too?” He kept his voice sarcastic, even though he kinda’ liked what Sebastian was doing. It was… cute. “I’m going to take a nap, tiger. The flat better not be full of small Santa decorations when I wake up again”, he muttered before closing his eyes, listening to the other man’s movements as he fell asleep.

 

Around an hour and thirteen minutes later the flat was -just as Jim had said he didn’t want it- decorated with scented candles and small Santa figurines. Sebastian shrugged to himself, he liked it, and after all it was his flat too. As Jim stirred awake Sebastian was just about to put the star onto the top of the Christmas tree. “Sorry boss”, he half muttered, half laughed. “But I couldn’t resist to decorate the flat a little, to get us, and especially you, into the Christmas spirit.” He rolled his eyes, he wasn’t sorry at all -no- Sebastian Moran loved Christmas, but more important, he loved annoying his boss.

 James rolled his eyes as he sat up, putting his feet on the coffee table, almost spilling out a cup of cold and untouched tea. _Christmas_ tea, as Sebastian had put it. Christmas carols were playing in the background from the speaker Jim originally had bought to play and replay his victims prayers for grace. He chucked as he thought about it, sometimes it really was fun to be a consulting criminal. His thoughts though, were disturbed by one Sebastian Moran, sitting down next to him, putting a Santa hat on his head.

 “There you go, boss. Now you’re just as ready for Christmas as I am”, Sebastian said with a grin.

 Jim shook his head, successfully hiding how much he loved this side of his sniper. With a small growl he took off the Santa hat from his head and put it on Sebastian’s, pulling it down over his eyes. “You are the one who’ll tidy up this mess”, he muttered.

 Sebastian just laughed and removed the hat from his eyes, pushing the consulting criminal down on his back, pecking his lips. “Are you sure of that, boss?” He mischievously grinned down at him. “Maybe I’ll just let it be until next Christmas? Would you like that?” He poked James’ nose before he got up from the sofa. “Do we have any ornaments for the tree?”

 Jim groaned and sat up again. “Oh Sebastian, I’d never tell you where they are. I _hate_ Christmas.” He rolled his eyes, something he often did when his sniper was present. Quickly downing the beverage in the cup he stood up and hung it in the Christmas tree. “That will do it. And maybe a gun…” he thoughtfully said, taking a few steps away from the tree. He had to admit, it was rather nice to have some Christmas decorations…

 Sebastian grinned and walked up to Jim, wrapping his arms around his waist from behind. “You’re a softy, you know that”, he mumbled into his ear, smiling widely.

 “I’m not!” James quickly replied, turning around. “I’m a consulting criminal, I am _not_ a _softy_!”

 “Yes you are”, Sebastian insisted, pressing his lips to Jim’s lips before he could object another time. “Merry Christmas.”

 


	3. Four days before - Mystrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four days 'till Christmas, and Gregory Lestrade is drinking whiskey with the British government.

“My brother is clearly not getting anything for Christmas.” Mycroft’s tone was bored, utterly so. Detective inspector Gregory Lestrade heaved a sigh. “But will you at least be at the… _celebration_ at Baker Street?”

 The both men were sat in Mycroft’s office at the Diogenes club, drinking whiskey. When Greg thought about it, he realised that he had actually no idea about why he was there. For a case? Probably not. Cases rarely include drinking whiskey with the British government.

 Mycroft heaved a long and exasperated sigh. “I’d rather not. There will be _people_.” The man leaned back in his chair, putting the glass of whiskey down on his desk, eyes sweeping over the grey haired man in front of him. “But you will be there, of course. Tradition.” Greg Lestrade was an easy man for Mycroft to read, at least when it came to such things. “So why are you asking me? Do you want my opinion on the whole Christmas fuzz?”

 Greg shook his head, his gaze wandering around in the room. There was no Christmas decorations, just like he’d suspected before he’d arrived. Mycroft Holmes was the British Government, not a family father. But then again, neither was Gregory, and still he was going to celebrate. “Why don’t you come spend Christmas with me?” he suddenly asked the elder Holmes brother. “I mean… we can get take out and, you know, do stuff like…” He slowly trailed off, realising how stupid it all sounded.

 Mycroft just looked stunned. He cocked his head to the side, a small movement, almost unnoticeable. “I don’t eat take out, Gregory. It’s not good for the diet.” His tone was neutral, even though he actually liked the idea of celebrating, _spending_ , Christmas with the detective inspector. “But I know you can cook.” He sighed as he saw Greg’s suspicious look. “You live alone and you can’t afford take out every meal, not that hard of a deduction.”

 Gregory nodded slightly, his gaze landing on the empty glass of his. “Fine. I’ll cook for you.” He kept his gaze at the glass, hoping that the faint blush that was spreading on his cheeks wasn’t too visible. He also hoped that the pounding heart in his chest indicated that he’d done the right thing.

 “I’ll be there.” Mycroft’s tone was calm, just as it always was. Though it seemed to be a tiny hint of warmth in it. “I can bring the whiskey.” He cracked a small smile that quickly disappeared. Smiling felt strange.

 Greg couldn’t help but laugh. “No need to smile, Mycroft. I see you don’t do it very often.” He nodded to himself, locking eyes with the other man before slipping his hand into the pocket in his jacket, taking up a small gift that was wrapped with a ribbon. “I know you’re not a very sentiment man, but I brought you something. In case you weren’t going to accept my offer.” He put the gift on the desk between them before standing up. “I have a murder case to take care of, but I suppose you already knew that.” He zipped his jacket, concealing an amused smile as Mycroft with a nod agreed to what he’d just said. Nodding back, Lestrade walked towards the door. Just before closing it behind him he turned to Mycroft, catching the man’s gaze. “Merry Christmas, Mycroft.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first Mystrade. I do hope it's tolerable.


	4. Three days before - Sebastian/Irene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three days 'till Christmas, and Irene Adler finds herself having a conversation with Sebastian Moran.

It was _that_ time of the year again. Irene Adler was back in London, _not dead._ It was the first time since she’d been beheaded in Karachi. _Nearly_ beheaded, she corrected herself. She shook her head, walking past the endless stores whose display windows were decorated for Christmas. Ever since _that_ Christmas –the Christmas when she’d given Sherlock Holmes her camera phone- she’d despised the holiday. Not that she’d ever liked it, but after that Christmas everything had changed. Rubbing her hands together to prevent her fingers from going numb her gaze caught a small café stuffed in between two huge clothing stores. She nodded silently to herself and steered her steps to said café, yearning for a hot cup of coffee to warm herself with.

 The café wasn’t exactly crowded, but there were a few people. She sighed as she realised there were no empty tables. She strongly disliked sitting with others. She preferred to be alone, she always had. She silently debated ordering coffee to take away, but quickly abandon the idea when she remembered how freezing cold it was outside. Eventually she sat down at a small window table, smiling briefly at the man opposite her. There was something familiar about him, though she wasn’t quite able to put a finger on what it was.

 Sebastian Moran flashed a quick smile at the woman who’d sat down at the same table as him, quickly looking her over. “Miss Adler?” He cocked his head to the side, narrowing his eyes a little. “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” He had both of his hands on the table, fingers wrapped around a paper mug with coffee. He hadn’t planned for sitting down, therefore the mug of paper, but outside was cold, and the café was a nice one. So he’d stayed, after all.

 “Yes.” Irene nodded thoughtfully, now recognising the sniper. “And yes. I _am_ supposed to be dead. But staying dead was _boring_.” She brought the porcelain cup she had to her lips, slowly sipping the hot beverage as she at the same time watched the man. “You’ve gotten yourself a haircut since I last saw you. Looks a lot better now.” She raised an eyebrow, fingers drumming softly on the table. “Aren’t you supposed to be at a roof, aiming at someone with your rifle?” Her tone was light. She’d only spoken to the sniper once before, and then in the presence of James Moriarty, but that’d been different. _This_ was different.

 “It’s Christmas.” Sebastian shrugged his broad shoulders. “I actually have a few days off. Surprise.” He raised a brow back at him, lifting his cup, drinking the last of his coffee. “First time in London for how long?” He was curious. He’d always been curious about the woman. _The_ woman. James obsession with her, it’d almost been unbearable.

 Furrowing her brows Irene thought about the question. “Years”, she simply answered. “You’re a sniper, you’re good at maths. You should know.” She heaved a long sigh. “I miss it, you know”, she continued, even though he hadn’t asked her about it. “The city. The lights and the traffic. Even the people.” Leaning backwards she put the mug she was holding down on the table. “I won’t stay for long though, and you know why.”

 Sebastian nodded. “Yes. Only a fool wouldn’t.” Without thinking he leaned forwards, towards Irene. “You can always stay at my place, you know”, he said quietly, putting a strand of escaped hair behind her ear before leaning back again. “If you want to. I won’t murder you.” It was a simple offer, but he meant it.

 “No.” The woman shook her head. “It’s tempting, it really is. But…” She brushed a hand through her hair. “I just can’t afford to risk it. Sorry.” _Sorry_. Had she just apologised to Sebastian Moran? Irene never apologised to anyone. She shrugged it away, strongly suspecting it was her ‘Christmas spirit’. Silent fell between the two of them. It was comfortable, she didn’t mind at all. She quickly finished her coffee, wrapping her coat around her. “I better be on my way, Sebastian Moran, but it was nice to meet you.” She gave him another smile. “Wouldn’t want to die just before Christmas.” Her tone was easy, but there was a truth to it. She could get killed any second, and staying in London of all places was far too dangerous.

 “Wait.” The simple word had just slipped out of Sebastian’s mouth before he’d been able to stop it. “I’ll follow you out.” He stood up, quickly taking his jacket on, returning Irene’s smile. He offered her his arm, and was quite –okay, _very_ \- satisfied when she took it, even though he’d never admit it to anyone.

 As they got outside the café she let go of his arm, glancing up at the sky. Small snowflakes were floating towards the ground. “It’s snowing.” Her tone was a bit sad. “For once it’s snowing, and I won’t even stay more than twelve hours.” She slowly shook her head, looking down at the ground, laughing ironically. She wanted to stay so badly.

 “Hey.” Sebastian carefully lifted her chin up with his fingers. “Don’t be sad. Snow in London always melts away. It’ll be gone even before you’ve left”, he said in an attempt to console her.

 Irene smiled weakly. “I guess.” She laughed a little, a true laugh. It felt strange, she hadn’t laughed like that for a very long time. “I believe I’ll miss you, Sebastian Moran.” Leaning forwards she quickly pecked his lips, her hand digging in her coat pocket for her phone. “Your number?” She handed it to him, watching his fingers as he added his number. At least she hoped so. He gave the phone back to her and she kept it in her hand, taking a step away from him, raising her hand. “Until we meet again, Sebastian Moran. Try to not kill anyone this Christmas.” With a smile still playing on her lips she turned around, leaving the small café and him behind her, fingers moving quickly over the screen of her phone.

 Sebastian had his hand raised as long as he could see the back of the woman. She truly was something. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, walking the opposite way. After a few metres his phone buzzed. Frowning deeply he took it up from his jeans, thinking it was his boss telling him that he had another target to _eliminate_. He was wrong. A single message lit up the screen. He read it over and over again, his heart making a small leap every time. [Merry Christmas, Sebastian Moran. Try to not kill anyone.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sebrene. It's really growing on me. The world clearly needs more of it.


	5. Two days before - Shercroft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two days 'till Christmas, and Mycroft is on a small visit at Baker Street.

"So. It's you and John then?" Mycroft's tone was neutral as always.

 "Yes." Sherlock leaned backwards in his armchair as he uttered the word, putting weight on the s in the end. Sweeping his gaze over his bigger brother he mentally rolled his eyes. "Gavin?" One name, a simple question.

 Mycroft tilted his head to the side, as if to tell his brother hat he was stupid. "Gregory", he corrected the other man. "Yes. What's with him?" The British Government suppressed an eye roll, Gregory wasn't exactly who he preferred talking about with Sherlock. Not that he ever liked having _conversation_ with his brother. "It's not like we're _boyfriends_." He almost snorted the last word out. "I'm not sentiment as you, brother dear."

 Sherlock snorted loudly. "He's growing on you, Mycroft. Soon you'll be jumping around on fluffy clouds." He shook his head. "All you'll be talking about is how you and him spent Christmas together, exchanging gifts and kisses under the mistletoe as you stuffed yourself full of cake and other sweets that's typical for Christmas." Although Sherlock's words were ironic and cold, he actually was glad for his brother, who finally seemed to having found himself a goldfish, as he so often formulated it.

 "Don't be sentiment." Mycroft sighed deeply. "I'm only protecting you, little brother. You're so _fragile_." He said the words with a bit of weight. It was true, his brother was fragile. Like thin glass, or even worse. "And no, I won't kiss Greg", he added, as if to assure Sherlock -and himself- about it. Kissing was sentiment. Mycroft didn't do sentiment.

 The detective ignored the last statement, knowing it was a lie, even though Mycroft didn't seem know that yet. "Fragile?" The detective shook his head. "And that is coming from you?" This was ridiculous. "You're just full of brotherly compassion and all that crap you're always speaking of. Just because you're the smarter one between the two of us it doesn't mean you can call me fragile. I'm not fragile, brother dear. You are."

 The elder brother pursed his lips. "You're stupid Sherlock, you always were the stupid one."  
Sherlock ignored his brother's words for a moment and let his gaze wander to the mistletoe that was hanging in the doorway leading to the kitchen, where he and John had kissed. "And so are you. Preventing yourself from emotions." In one swift move the detective was out of his chair, taking the mistletoe down, tossing it over to Mycroft. "Give Geoff this, or even better, hold it over his head." He rolled his eyes. "So can you two share an _under the mistletoe_ kiss." He walked over to the door that was leading out of the flat, opening it. "Good bye, Mycroft. I do hope I won't have to see you more this Christmas. You're ruining my spirit." He unpatienly watched as Mycroft got out of his chair.

 "I don't want the mistletoe, thank you very much", Mycroft said, his tone bored. "You can keep it. John obviously likes it." He took his umbrella and straightened his back. "You'll have to contact mummy, tell her that you're _splendid_ , that way she won't worry about you." He walked over to the door, stopping right before the threshold. "Merry Christmas, Sherlock."

 Sherlock sighed and pushed his brother ouside, sticking his head out through the door before slamming it shut. "And a happy new year."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first Sherlock/Mycroft piece ever. Apologies for the lack of kisses.


	6. One day before - Sherlolly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One day 'till Christmas, and Sherlock invites Molly to a Christmas celebration.

"It's Christmas tomorrow." Molly Hooper, dressed in her standard lab coat, laughed nervously. "What will you be doing? Is it celebration at Baker Street just as usual?" she asked Sherlock, whose attention was at the small experiment under the microscope. She didn't know why she was asking, she already knew there was going to be one. But asking about his experiment seemed ridiculous, so she went for the Christmas celebration. 

 "Yes", he shortly said. "You're invited, just as usual. I thought you already knew that." He looked up from the microscope, straightening his back, making it crack a little. "Will you bring your boyfriend?" He raised his brow, leaning slightly against the desk. He knew she didn't have a boyfriend, but asking her about it was... a way of showing that he cared more about her than about his experiment, which obviously could wait. "It's Christmas eve today,  Molly. How come you're working?" His tone was frank. He'd come to St Bart's in hope of being alone, but there Molly had been, of course wanting to have conversation, and to be honest the detective liked it quite much. 

 "Boyfriend?" the pathologist echoed. "No, I don't have one, didn't you know that I'm..." She cut herself off, she was once again being stupid. "Just taking an extra shift", she answered to his other question. "It's not like I have anything else to do anyway." She smiled briefly at Sherlock, hoping she wasn't boring him. 

 For a while there was silence, at least until the man spoke again. "You'll come then I suppose, to Baker Street?" He kept his tone neutral, even though he liked the idea of Molly spending an hour or a few together with him during Christmas day, celebrating. He kept his gaze on the woman as she nodded as an answer to his question. "Good. I'll tell Mrs. Hudson, she'll be happy." He nodded slightly to himself, realising he was acting _nice_. He heaved a sigh, once again suspecting it was his Christmas spirit that was playing with him. 

 "Of course, yes. Do tell her that I'll come." Molly nodded, her gaze catching Sherlock's. Oh, those eyes. She could drown in them. She always did. After a few seconds of silence she cleared her throat, tearing her gaze away from his. "You don't have any case to solve then? A murder or something? I wouldn't want to bother you if you have something more important. More important than me." 

 Sherlock shook his head. "No, I don't have anything more important than you. _You are_ important, don't you know that?" He sighed, knowing the words he was saying were pretty much unbelievable. He saw the doubtful look on Molly's face and took a step towards her. The distance between them was the same distance two people usually had when they were having a casual conversation. Not that Sherlock ever had casual conversations with anyone, still he knew. 

 "No, I'm not important." Molly shook her head, denying the statement, Even though deep inside it warmed her that he'd actually said it, that he meant it. "I'll get you something then. A book about body parts or ash or something." She smiled at him, uncounciously drumming her fingertips against her leg. "Or some petri dishes, if you'd rather have that." 

 Sherlock tried to hide a smile, but failed. "Everything works, Molly. You don't have to overdo it." 

 Before Molly could object he took another step towards her, catching her wrist. "It'll be a lovely Christmas no matter if you give me a book about ash -that I probably never will have the time to read- or petri dishes." Sherlock's tone was soft, something that was fairly new to him, to both of them. He let go of her wrist, noticing that she'd been holding her breath. "I better be on my way, I have thumbs to take care of. I Will see you tomorrow, Molly Hooper." Without really thinking about it he leaned forwards, placing a small kiss on her pale cheek. Then he stepped backwards and turned around, walking towards the door without an other word. 

 Molly was stunned, trying to get her breathing back to normal. She didn't understand, Sherlock had never... She shook her head, she couldn't possibly understand the detective. Just before he left she opened her mouth, but instead of the simple 'good bye' she had meant to tell him, other words left her mouth. "Merry Christmas, Sherlock." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sweats nervously*  
>  I've never written Sherlolly before, and I must say this was hard. I hope I made the ship justice.


	7. Christmas day.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas day. Merry Christmas.

"Antlers? Really?" Sherlock rolled his eyes and 'accidentally' kicked what was supposed to be _fun_ under the sofa. It was Christmas day and the clock had just turned seventeen -in the night, of course- at Baker Street. Sherlock was sitting in his chair, hands steepled under his chin in his signature posture. John was greeting Molly at the door, taking her coat like a real gentleman. Mrs. Hudson was downstairs, providing then with something to eat by fetching more gingerbread. 

 "Hello, Molly", Sherlock said from his chair, looking up briefly. "You look good." Sherlock narrowed his eyes a little, silently asking himself whether a person could actually look good or not. 'Well', he thought, 'I need to do an experiment on that some time.' 

 John nodded in agreement to what Sherlock had said. "You really do, I like your dress." John led Molly inside the flat, gesturing at her to sit down in the sofa. "Unfortunately Greg couldn't make it. He said he was sick. Right Sherlock?" John looked over at the detective, who was dismissively waving a hand in the air. "Sick, yes. Or something like that." 

 Molly smiled. "Well, it's still nice. I brought your gifts." She started to take presents out of the bag she'd brought. "For you, and for Sherlock." She handed them both to John. "I don't think Sherlock wants his though, or he already knows what it is, or both." Molly sounded a little nervous. 

"I see you went for the petri dishes." Sherlock stood up, graceous as always, and walked over to them, taking his gift. "Thank you, Molly. I've run out." He placed the wrapped gift on the coffee table before returning to his chair, placing his hands under his chin as he closed his eyes, wondering what his bigger brother was doing together with Gavin (or was it Geoff?). 

"You have a mistletoe?" The clock was just turning seven as Gregory uttrred his first words to Mycroft on December 25th, sounding surprised, he _was_ surprised. He'd never expected one Mycroft Holmes to have a _mistletoe_ . But to be fair the mistletoe seemed to be the only thing related to Christmas in Mycroft's home. The detective inspector laughed nervously as he stepped inside, looking around. It seemed rather posh, and nothing at all like _his_ rat hole to flat. After all Greg was relieved they'd decided to spend Christmas at Mycroft's rather than his. 

"Sherlock insisted." Mycroft shook his head, leading Greg into the living room where he'd put out two whiskey glasses and -surprise- a bottle of his finest whiskey. "He's interesting, my little brother, but let's not talk about him. He's boring", he insisted, gesturing at his visitor to sit down in the sofa, which even a regular person could see hadn't been used much. As soon as Greg had sit down Mycroft walked over to his stereo -yes, he actually owned a stereo- and put on some classic music before sitting down next to the detective inspector, pouring them whiskey. 

Greg took the glass, taking a small sip. "Wonderful", he truthfully exclaimed. "I haven't had such good whiskey in a very long time." He carefully looked at Mycroft, who didn't immediately reply. The silence that was settling was a bit uncomfortable. 

"Thank you." The small frown Mycroft made indicated that he wasn't used to such compliments, even though it was about the whiskey and not him. "I'm afraid I don't have any gift for you, Gregory", he then continued. "I just haven't had the time." 

"Don't worry, just this is enough." He raised his glass a little, slowly realising that what he'd just said probably was a bit cheesy. "I mean, I'm sure the whiskey's rather expensive..." 

"It is", Mycroft quickly agreed. "Expensive, I mean." He sipped his drink a little more, slowly starting to relax, the music playing in the background was absolutely helping. He looked at Gregory again, in a way he'd never looked at him before. In _that __way. He shook his head, he was getting sentiment. Maybe it was the middle age crisis?_

Greg tried a brief smile at Mycroft. "Whiskey and classic music? Do you do this often?" 

Mycroft looked at Greg in silence for a few more seconds before shaking his head. "No, not at the same time. That's just for you." He fell silent. "You should feel privileged." 

The words Mycroft was saying actually warmed inside, even more than the whiskey. "You should try to smile sometimes, Mycroft. It's good for your health, and it will definitely make you more attractive." 

Mycroft suppressed a snort. "Really?" He tried his best to conceal the smile that was spreading on his lips, but failed miserably. He just shook his head and picked up the bottle standing on the table. "More whiskey?" 

"No. We are _not_ exchanging gifts", James Moriarty muttered to his sniper. Somewhere in the background he heard the clock turn seven, but the consulting criminal really couldn't care less. "We are _criminals_ , and criminals _do not_ exchange gifts!" 

"But boss..." Sebastian tried to object. "It's Christmas." He pouted slightly and gave his partner in crime the 'kicked puppy' face, knowing he could never resist it. 

"No! We have a fucking Christmas tree, isn't that enough for you?" Jim had started the sentence by shouting, but seeing Sebastian's utterly cute face he gave up, not to mention that he actually _had_ gotten his sniper a gift, just in case. "Don't look at me like that", he whined silently. "It hurts..." 

Sebastian laughed but stopped pouting. "Good, because I have a gift for you." He handed his boss two gifts, one suspiciously shaped as a gun, and the other with a shape suspiciously similar to a teddy bear. 

James shook his head and took the two gifts, his heart leaping, although he didn't show it. "Two mini-Sebastians, I see", he sarcastically said, putting them on the table. "I'll... get you something tomorrow", he smoothly lied, not wanting to seem like a softy. "You have work to do, Sebastian. Killing people, shoo on you." The consulting criminal waved his hand in the air. 

"Yes boss", Sebastian muttered, grabbing his phone, his rifle and his coat. "You better not open your gifts without my presence." With a quick move Sebastian headed out, pulling his coat collar up against the cold air. It was going to be a quick kill, and then he would quickly return home to Jim. 

Back at the criminal's place James almost threw himself over the gifts Sebastian had given him, tearing them open. Ah, a gun, his favourite brand. That one was going to be handy. He put it in the waistband of his trousers before opening the other gift. "A teddy bear", he muttered, a grin spreading on his face. "Oh Sebastian, what have you done with me?" 

At an unknown location Irene Adler was walking the empty streets of some big city, silently wondering how _normal_ people spent their Christmas. Probably not by running from people who were trying to kill them. She slowly shook her head, checking the local time on her phone. "That means it's about eight back home", she mumbled to herself, sitting down on an empty bench. She heaved a sigh, leaning her head back, looking up at the sky. It was blue, no snow. She remembered the night she'd met Sebastian Moran. It felt like a lifetime ago, but at least it'd been snowing. Again she shook her head, knowing it would be a stupid thing to conact him again. He was probably with Moriarty, celebrating the holiday by killing someone. 

Ten minutes later Irene gave up to her itching fingers and sent Sebastian a text. [Merry Christmas. You haven't killed anyone, have you?] 

On a rooftop in central London Sebastian Moran was just about to retreat home to a warm flat and a certain consulting criminal when he got a text. Once again he -wrongly- assumed it was his boss, telling him he'd got hima new target. Opening the text though, he realised that he once again had been wrong. He shook his head and smiled as he removed the gloves from his hands and typed back before heading hack home to Jim. 

At Baker Street the clock was turning late, and despite the fun -yes, they'd actually had fun- they decided to bring the night to an end. Sherlock helped Molly get her coat whilst John was cleaning up in the kitchen. 

"I had fun tonight", Molly told the detective, all of sudden growing shy. "Thank you for letting me come." 

Sherlock smiled at her. "Thank you for coming, Molly", he silently said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. "I'll see you." 

Molly blushed furiously and nodded, giving him a quick hug before leaving the flat, heart pounding in her chest. It'd been a good Christmas, after all. 

Soon Mrs. Hudson also left, leaving John and Sherlock alone. "I guess it's time for me to go to bed then", John said as he stretched his arms over his head, yawning loudly. He smilded a little as Sherlock replied with an 'I guess so'. Walking over to the other man John gently took his hand, brushing his thumb over the back of it. "Molly's not the only one fancying you, you know", he said silently, his tone soft. 

"I know", Sherlock silently replied. "But she's not the one I kissed under the mistletoe, is she?" He watched as John shook his head, a small blush spreading over the doctor's cheeks. 

"I just mean..." he cut himself off. "I'm being stupid, sorry." He shook his head, letting go of Sherlock's hand. 

"You're not being stupid, you're being sentiment." Sherlock carefully took John's hand again. "And I love you for that, John Watson." He bent down and carefully kissed John's lips. "I love you." 

The classic music had since long tuned out, but still the two men were sitting at the sofa. It was an odd couple, but opposites attract, right? Gregory had an arm draped over Mycroft's shoulder, and despite what you'd think he hadn't even objected once. 

The whiskey was forgotten, the nervousity and the awkward silence was since long gone. "You know what?" Mycroft asked, his words perfectly clear, his tone straight. "Spending Christmas together was actually a good idea." 

Greg nodded approvingly, turning his head to watch the man next to him. "I know, my ideas are always good." He smiled to himself as he saw that he'd managed to draw just another smile out Mycroft. 

Mycroft was smiling. _Again_ . This could _not_ continue. He was the British government, not a clown. He frowned deeply, thinking that clowns probably didn't..- He was abruptly jerked away from his thoughts as he felt soft lips and a brief against his cheek. 

"Merry Christmas." 

Sebastian ran into the flat when he heared gunshots, clearly coming from James' bedroom. As he stormed into the bedroom, gun drawn, he imagined the worst of happenings, only to see his boss shooting at the teddy bear he just had gotten. "But Jim", Sebastian whined. "I told you to not open your gifts until I was home." Sighing he put the gun away, throwing his coat over a chair and kicking his shoes off. "And you ruined the teddy bear!" 

Jim laughed ironically. "I got bored. You were taking too long." Also he put the gun away, rolling his eyes. 

A small growl escaped the sniper as he jumped on the bed, pinning Jim down on it. "I'm fucking going to kill you", he muttered, his face dangerously close to the other man's. 

"I'd like to see you try, Sebby. You're a softy, I'm a consulting criminal. Consulting criminals always outwin snipers, and they do _not_ have teddy bears." He leaned up and quickly pecked Sebastian's lips. "What do you even think about me?" 

Deciding to keep moving Irene got up from the bench, continuing her endless walk. A hostel seemed like a good idea right now. After a while her phone buzzed, and with a smile playing on her lips she took it up from her pocket, reading the message from Sebastian Moran. [I don't kill, I eliminate. Merry Christmas, Ms. Adler. SM.] 

She shook her head as if she couldn't believe it. Without replying she put her phone away. After all; texting was dangerous when you were chased. Speedening the pace up a little bit she wrapped her coat tighter around her, only one thing running through her head. _Sebastian Moran_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it folks. Have a merry Christmas.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos if you enjoyed.  
> Merry Christmas.


End file.
